In The End
by SpeechlessQuestion
Summary: In the end, who really wants to think about war? oneshot, very minor slash.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing, as many have stated before me, JK Rowling is acting as head of that department.**

**AN: was musing on this one day, after the italics the story picks right back up, it sometimes interrupts sentences though. I got the format from King's Lisey's Story**

**Sum: In the end, who wants to think about the war?**

**... :!: ...**

**In The End**

**... :!: ...**

There was one thing that he didn't think of. In the end, the very end,

_(So far to the end, that it was past the final battle and the victor's celebrations) _

Who wanted to think of it? So no, he did not think of that.

He sat in his chair, having knee troubles since **Then **

_(Then, the time we don't speak of) _

when his knees were blasted with powerful backlash, he was lucky to still have his legs. He was covered in a blanket, sitting in what used to be his sanctuary on cold, lonely nights. Before and after.

_(When of course the couples weren't frequenting it) _

He sat in quiet. His days were filled with quiet now. The laughter of his friends, those he considered his family, and even old enemies, had died out. Had been dying out for a while. So far in the past is he, that his enemy's memory is merely a story to scare children into obedience. His, is used to comfort those in tears, as he has seen many a time in the very halls of the castle in which he now sits.

He looks with deep eyes that almost look right for his age. For so long, they had seen too much, and it made him look out of place with his body. Now, with wrinkles, papery skin, age blots, weak lungs and all the things that came with age, his eyes were almost matched to himself.

The grounds of the great castle were bathed in the barely sunset. The lake with its ever present guardian, whipping about a tentacle,

_(As if to say goodbye) _

and making more patters in the sunlight water. It sunk back down. The large, fluid shape was hard to miss. It to though, soon disappeared.

The willow in all its glory, all its memories, had fallen **Then**. A new one had been planted from its seedling.

_(part of the memorial for all of **Those** people) _

It was now a decent size by now. Time,

(and the ever abundance of magic)

helped it grow fast, it was now rather large. Soon the glamour that covered a disused tunnel could be taken off.

_(if anyone remembered it was there at all, a wonder no one fell in) _

He sighed, and stretched his failing

_(they had always been failing, but now more so. His spectacles barely worked) _

eyes to the forest. He fancied he saw two headlights

_(maybe from a Ford Angela, long forgotten but in rare rumored sighting) _

chase the flock of birds to the sky. Then again, maybe it was a giant's footsteps, warning that their tree would be the next to go in its odd game of pin back and release.

He imagined that his old comrades were on the field in his vision. Playing a pick-up game of Quidditch and wondering where he was, at the same time knowing he'd be there. Maybe his bushy haired friend in the stands, going between being absorbed in her book, to being fixated on their

_(she swore they were death-defying, but barely; barely defying she said) _

moves in the air. Almost screaming, but then laughing as we did, once, at the tricks. But he hadn't heard that laugh since before **Then**. He remembered it was at the antics of her soon-to-be

_(but never-to-be as it turned out) _

brother-in-laws. Ever the jokesters...

then the joker, for a bit...

then merely the silent reminder of even more laughter that no longer existed…

They had always brought laughter with them

_(but once 'them' ceased to exist) _

until **Then**. A howl lit the night with its resounding, melancholy plea. A reminder,

_(this place was always filled with them) _

of the night he realized that the Betrayed was the Betrayer, and vice versa. That some people despite their Good Intentions can become Monsters, and that even those who appear to be Monsters

_(always said he was a vampire) _

can retain some shred of humanity. Never had so much happiness, and so much woe, happen in the same instant save one.

The sounds of the night were interrupted by a cracking 'POP' as a small female creature appeared in the tower and bent its head the one in the chair.

"Hello, Wibby." His dry voice, like twigs underfoot, or reeds in the wind, rasped this greeting to the creature.

"Hello, Master sir,

_(he had long ago given up the fight; some creatures needed a master to take care of) _

Wibby is here to be telling you that it be late and that the Wheezy's great-Bones" He almost laughed at the reoccurring theme in term for the great several times grand child of Bill and Fleur, who was also the descendant of Susan Bones

_(though through tragedy and great pain her child was conceived (1) there were few more loved) _

who had never married. This resulted in the Weasley hair

_(as well as the curious amber eyes that adorned most all of Bill's descendants) _

and the last name Bones. This descendant was now Headmaster of Hogwarts, and a friend of sorts.

_(the last 'real' Weasley's were Ginny's descendants) _

-is expecting you for tea tomorrow." The elf nodded proudly, while he smiled a small smile at the creature. This one was a descendant of Dobby, who had survived **Then**, and had helped many lives during the aftermath.

_(In fact, he still resided in the castle. Head elf, and old, not overly so for an elf though.) _

"Thank you Wibby, please inform the Headmaster that while I noticed the hint, I am going to neglect on acting on it. It is too pleasant a night to go in just now. Though," he paused, "some cocoa would be much appreciated." He smiled gently at the creature that popped away, only to be back again quickly with a cup of steaming cocoa which was placed carefully in his hands.

"I'll be careful Wibby, thank you and goodnight." He turned away in dismissal. Taking a careful sip of the hot drinkMolly had called it 'comfort in a cup' when she served it to surviving orphans of **Then**.

_(She did until the makeshift establishment was attacked anyway, the children got away safely though.)_

He could just barely see the stars. The brightest was his old friend. _'All night, all day, angels watchin over me'_ popped into his head, his old vocal chords struggling to make his tone melodic as he tried to reproduce the tune, this was the song often hear hummed by Seamus,

_(another of **Those** who were silenced) _

or even sung in the Gryffindor commons or dormitory. He had heard it on the rare occasion that Seamus and his lover forgot silencing spells on their four-poster towards the end, when they sought comfort in the same bed.

_(Dean never got over him and would often be hear around the castle humming the very tune) _

More noises joined the awakening chorus as the sun proceeded down. Blending together, inter-sped with individual and group solos. Some were the product of an old man's fantasies and memories, as the giant's footsteps,

_(Grawp had been moved even before **Then**) _

the Acromantula clicks that seemed to keep time for the rest of the artists

_(though he was to far away to hear) _

the twang of arrows when the archers galloped vengefully after their foe,

_(who unfortunately escaped, though only into a deeper insanity) _

the horn of the Ford, surprised as it hit some new obstacle that had not been there previously.

He even fancied he heard a dogs bark

(though it was more a Grim)

with the pat of soft hooves

(following, but leading when the time came)

and the noise of gruesome claws,

_ (that had been fingers hours ago) _

ripping into the ground.

_(all, no doubt, after a rodent of some sort) _

An owl hoot, he almost could attach a snowy white exterior to the sound. Though he knew it was in vain

_(no owl should have _ _Vernon__ as a housemate) _

as he knew his friends sad fate. The many times great grandchildren of his cousin went here, the name of Dursley still standing,

_(this time with more open carriers) _

a chuckle rippled through his body as he imagined his uncle's reaction. This soon turned to a wheeze, and a cough. He took a sip of his drink and that seemed to appease his throat.

_(oh, **we** won the last old man Dursley) _

He brushed back a lock of grey hair, it had once been full and midnight black, now it was merely a shadow of its former self.

_(as is the rest of me) _

Now it was truly darkening, the yellow to orange to pink. Then, to purple and blue. The clouds and their multi-colored glow. It's rare they have a day like this anymore. Slowly

_(but oh so surely, and sadly) _

the contamination the muggles have wrought on their world was seeping into the wizards'. Smog, dusty nights and days where it seemed the sun had all but disappeared. New spells had come and gone, nothing could fix this damage. There was thought that if they exposed this world to the muggles that the worlds could work together to solve what was being done.

_(there will always be opposition) _

Then, the man heard a noise… it was hard not to, other noises of the night had ceased.

_(oh so welcome) _

He could not believe…

_(who would?) _

He heard the song… of a phoenix. So low, barely a whisper. To his astonishment, it became stronger.

_(it cannot be) _

His pale green eyes opened in amazement at the sight before him. In fact, it brought tears of joy and relief to this sad, sad old man's eyes.

_(old friend) _

"I had thought… You were gone though…" His voice barely above a whisper.

An amused trill met his ears. He smiled through his tears at the still magnificent bird in front of him, ever the red and gold. Bright plumage suggested a burning day had just occurred.

"Oh, Fawkes… you've come to take me home haven't you?"

The bird nodded. In sadness, in shared pain, in knowing how it felt to not be able to die when one has wished so long for merely thus.

The man's eye brightened with renewed youth, sparkled

_(almost as an old masters) _

as he held out an arm for the bird.

He took one look around, at the grounds bathed in the last rich moments of sunset. He looked into the dark eyes of his companion and whispered three words,

_(his last, though not the last repeated for he would go on in memory) _

He had waited for so long to utter them. So long, and they were so full of emotion. He stood tall with newfound strength, eyes sharp and clear. His final goodbye

_(thank Merlin, so many have been said already, I could not stand even one other) _

"Take me home."

_(A deep breath, sure eyes, and a leap) _

With a flash of flames, they were gone. All that was left from his person were his glasses and a cup of cocoa, spilt to the ground. There was the chair to, which would be found later, and the object of great puzzlement.

_(only to later be put in a museum) _

Then, a great gust of wind whipped through the Astronomy Tower, taking the ashes and the single feather out off the balcony.

It whispered through the hallways, and a few ghosts. Suits of armor shivered and rattled. Into dungeons, up towers and finally out again. Then through dormitories, ruffling the hair of a boy sitting on the window sill, caressing the cheek or a girl with red hair lying on a black leather couch. By the man in an odd round office, staring out his own window, then returning to his work and looking forward to tea with an old friend the next day.

Along the lake, past that one tree and through the Whomping willow branches. Across the Quidditch pitch and past where the old Gamekeepers hut stood long abandoned. Through the fur of the wolf, the unicorns hide. Some centaurs stayed their arrows, they looked the sky not in askance but in understanding. The stag stopped to listen to the wind and what it brought, as did the doe near his side. The Grim, the Acromantula both stopped to analyze the air. Then through the nameless creatures, their burrows, hollows, trees, fur, scales; the wind did not neglect them as so many others had.

Through the ministry, the Aurors on guard were comforted as it passed. The minister had just signed a law that she hoped would benefit her people and she spared a glance in the direction of her papers that had been rustled in the winds passing. Deep within the bowels of the ministry, a deep bark was heard as the wind played with a dark veil that hung on an ominous arch.

Through Diagon Alley it headed next, the Weezes bell was tolled, startling one of the latest of the latest redheaded innovators, who glared at her companion. Through Gringotts, and Fortesques. The new Olivander, a lady this time and New Tom in his pub smiled at the wind that reminded them of home. It was carried throughout the world, magic and non had all felt its passing.

The wind, like them all, came to rest. Not like the others, the wind stopped where it had begun. The wind of change does many strange things though, so it shouldn't be wondered at that it decided to so such. Things that are great often bend the rules you know. How can something be great, if it keeps to them all? It came to the place, and left a pile of ashes, that had last seen a boy, with a lightening-bolt scar.

**… :!: … **

**(1) ****emphasis on conceived, not as in birthed, as in when it was created. I thought this might create some confusion. **

**AN: I dunno, it just kinda popped into my head one day, what happens when they're all old? I mean I read a lot of the really young powerful harry or whoever but… yeah, not everything lasts and all that. Questions I'll do my best to answer, though some things will remain unanswered as I was deliberately vague to make you guys think. Please review, even if its one word it will be appreciated. **

**Thanks for your time and I hope you enjoyed this. **

**!AleRotta! **

the greatest question has no words


End file.
